


In Which Agent York Helps Agent North Combat His Fear of Flying

by RoyalHeather



Series: before there was red vs. blue there was project freelancer [7]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Irresponsible use of jet packs, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 03:50:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6036868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalHeather/pseuds/RoyalHeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: Nork, things you said when we were the happiest we ever were</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Agent York Helps Agent North Combat His Fear of Flying

North is staring determinedly at _War and Peace_  (this time, THIS TIME he’s going to finish it, FOR SURE) when York slides onto North’s bench, bumping into him. “I heard there’s some fancy new jetpacks down in Special Equipment.” 

 Looking up, North sees York is wearing the sort of grin he has come to associate with imminent disaster. “No -”

“Yes!”

“York, _no -”_

 _“_ York, YES!” And he’s up and off with a bound, and North sighs and compresses his reader to put it back in his pocket, because now he _has_  to go after York, the idiot’s going to put his other eye out or crash into an asteroid or something if he doesn’t. 

He catches up to York where he’s waiting for the turbolift. York’s smile widens as he approaches. “I knew you couldn’t resist -”

“I would like to state for the record that I do _not_  approve of this,” says North, keeping a stony disapproving gaze on the metal doors in front of them, “and am coming along for the main reason of keeping you from injuring yourself.”

“ _Main_  reason?” says York. North can see his shit-eating grin out of the corner of his eye. “So there are other reasons…”

North tries not to let an answering smile tug on the corner of his mouth, but it’s difficult, because he can’t remember the last time he saw York genuinely excited like this. (That’s a lie, he can. It was before he lost his eye). “Maybe,” he allows.

York laughs triumphantly as the doors ding open. 

They grab their armor first, and then head down to Special Equipment. The hallway is empty, not unusual for this time of night. York simply walks up to the door, keys in a couple codes, and it opens. 

North frowns at him. “How…?” Access like that was reserved for the Director and chief staff members, or so he thought.

“D,” says York, smug. “Got me the access codes.” He pauses for a brief second. “He thinks this is a stupid idea too.”

Right. Delta. When York’s not holoprojecting, it’s all too easy for North to forget about the new intelligence in his head. He wonders if York ever turns him off, and tries to ignore the strange pang of jealousy that causes him. 

“Anyway,” says York, stepping aside and making a sweeping gesture for North to go through the door. “Shall we?”

The jetpacks are fairly normal in appearance, and equip much the same way standard issue ones do. “York,” says North, tightening his gauntlets as they stand in front of the airlock, “do you know exactly why these are upgraded?”

“Nope.”

“Great.” The doors open with a soft whoosh of airflow, and North steps in. “So when this spirals me off to an untimely death, I can blame you.” 

“You won’t die.” York steps in beside him, the doors shutting behind him. “Scout’s honor.”

“Hm.” North looks over at him, F.I.L.S.S. chiming overhead _Airlock depressurizing. Please remain still until the outer doors are open, and do not remove your helmets. “_ Why don’t I believe that?”

“Please,” snorts York. “If you really didn’t trust me, you wouldn’t be here.”

“There are varying degrees of trust, Agent York,” says Delta, appearing with a flash of green. “For example, Agent North may trust you not to cause his death, but he clearly does not trust you not to injure yourself -”

“Yes, thank you, D,” says York, sounding only mildly exasperated. “You got these jetpacks figured out, right?”

“I do,” says Delta. “Would you like me to list their specifications?”

“Nah, but you can tell me,” says York casually, turning his helmet towards North. “Let’s leave a few surprises for North, huh?”

“Surprises,” grumbles North, folding his arms.

 _Airlock depressurized,_  says F.I.L.S.S. _Outer doors opening._

The heavy steel doors slide open to reveal the expanse of space, stars glittering cold amongst the velvety darkness. “Ready?” says North.

York gives him a thumbs up, Delta winking out of existence, probably to focus better on running the pack. “Let’s do this.”

The pack ignites wit a soft _fwoosh_  and North soars gently out into the void, taking it at a controlled drift. So far, it’s not terribly different from the standard jetpacks, a touch more sensitive to control, perhaps. “So,” says North, York soaring up beside him, “what exactly can these do?”

“Dunno.” York loops around him. “Let’s find out,” and he shoots off like a rocket.

“York!” yells North (he was there, he had been there when Georgia lost control and was swallowed up by the dark), but he’s not so much flying away as zooming around North in a wide arc. Delta won’t let him go too far, North tells himself. But it doesn’t do much to slow the pounding of his heart.

“Dude,” says York, flying up beside him, “D says this has three times the horsepower of the standard packs.”

“Lovely.”

“C’mon, man.” York thumps North on the shoulder, making him wobble in space. “Live a little.” 

“I’m trying.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake -” and York’s grabbed North by the collar and is suddenly speeding off with him. “I’m gonna let you go on one - two - three -”

He suddenly hurls North away from him, sending North spinning away from the _Invention_ , and North grits his teeth, boosting his jetpack to counteract the momentum. Okay, so… not that bad. Controls are _definitely_ better. “Hey, York,” he calls over the commlink. “Watch your six -”

“Huh?” York twists to look behind him, and the second he’s turned around North rockets towards him. They collide with a satisfyingly jarring impact, North grabbing York around the waist and hurtling through space with him. “Hey!”

“Ooh,” says North, looking through the jetpack options coming up on his HUD. “Look,  there’s chaff, smokescreen, turbo boost -”

He regrets it the second he says it.. 

With an orange-white flare York’s suddenly the one moving them, speed so fast the G-forces are pulling on North’s skull, the stars blurring past him. “York!” shouts North, trying to disengage himself, pounding on York’s shoulder, “York, you’re going too fast, you’re going to burn up your fuel -”

York doesn’t respond, just speeds up.

“ _York -”_ There’s not enough air in North’s suit, they’re going too fast and too far and they won’t be able to get back, they’re going to be lost in space and float up against Georgia’s corpse - “YORK!”

Suddenly their dizzying speed slows and they spiral to a halt. North looks around frantically for the _Invention_  and is relieved to see it there, much closer than he thought. “Hey,” York is saying, oddly soft and gentle. “Hey, it’s all right. I got you.”

North swallows, heart pounding hard, and realize he has a death grip on York. “Sorry,” he says, trying to relax.

“No worries.” York’s tone is calm, conversational, and he’s still holding onto North as they rotate in space. “I forgot, you were there when Georgia -”

“Don’t,” growls North.

“Sorry,” says York, and hums a little. North has not moved to let go of him… nor does he particularly want to. This is nice. 

For a while neither of them say anything, just float there, surrounded by silence and stars. It is almost painfully romantic, and although North is sure that York is holding him in a totally platonic, non-affectionate way, it is very difficult to convince his heart that. It doesn’t help that York seems totally content to do this - he’s still _humming,_  for fuck’s sake. “York,” says North eventually.

“Hmm?”

He suddenly finds himself stuck for what to say. “You’re still holding onto me,” he says eventually.

“Sure am.” York sounds quietly pleased with himself.

North takes a moment to try and figure out if there’s anything more behind that. “So…”

“A nice friendly bro-hug. In space. Bros in space.”

North doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or to laugh at himself. Probably both. “Okay.” 

“Did you want to go back in?”

North considers, and despite his earlier panic, despite the ache of knowing this is so close to what he wants and yet still so far, he does not want to let go of York any time soon. “Maybe,” he says. “In a bit.”

“Okay.” York hums again, and North suddenly recognizes what tune it is - it’s the fucking _Star Wars_  theme song. 

“You idiot,” he says, maybe a little too fondly, but York just laughs, a full-hearted, golden sound that North wants to listen to forever. 

“Never heard that one before,” says York.

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true.”


End file.
